Sacrifice the chicken for Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur is coming up so I have to once again decide whether to sacrifice the chicken. For most of the year Jewish religious observance is about praise and gratitude. Jewish guilt is reserved for our families. We roll our religious guilt up into one ball, Yom Kippur; twenty-four hours of the worst Jewish pain; no food. Plus we pray in synagogue all day to a chorus of stomach growls.

But in the days before Yom Kippur some of us sacrifice animals, mostly chickens. The rite is called Kaparot, or atonements. The idea is that on Yom Kippur the book of life, in which we all want our names written, is sealed. Just in case our names are not in the book Kaparot is kind of a last call for forgiveness. A thoroughly modern Jew with cell phone firmly clipped to belt will purchase a chicken; a rooster for a man a hen for a woman, and wave it over her head while making a special blessing that asks G-d to accept the chicken’s life instead of her own. The chicken is then taken away, ritually slaughtered and the meat given to the poor.

The rite focuses my attention like nothing else. Something dies solely because I will it. Sure I eat chickens all the time but they are merely meat. But with Kaparot a specific life ends at my request. And I offer the rooster’s bloody death to my awaiting G-d.

No it’s not like Abraham offering his son Isaac on an alter but it’s a lot more meaningful than an extra crispy bucket at Popeye’s.

In performing Kaparot I leave the world of broadband telephony and wireless Internet and am thrown back to a place and time when survival seemed more tenuous, when life and death were more obviously bound. I am ancient African Aaron, humbly imploring the great mystery to let me have my miserable life for a few more struggle-filled days.

Still and all it’s pretty weird to drive to Chicago for a morning of animal sacrifice. And the whole thing is odd enough that every year I have to decide whether I really want to do it. At least when I perform Kaparot I am comforted by one fact: I’ve always hated roosters.